Love and Mistletoe by Zara Keane Page B

long, a door creaked shut, and the clickety-clack of the heels moved back across the cobblestoned yard to the house.
    When the lights in the room nearest the back door went out, his tense muscles slackened.
    “Whatever eejit of a hound Colm’s got now is a useless guard dog,” Seán whispered. “Why didn’t it pick up our scent?”
    Brian shrugged. “Dunno. No sense of smell? Maybe he got it cheap.”
    “No sense of smell or not, it sounds vicious.” Seán shifted restlessly. “We’re going to have to try to get a look in the window. Without proof that they’re up to something they shouldn’t be, we’ve no business being here.”
    “You go, and I’ll shadow you?”
    Seán laughed, a low rumble. “Nice try. This stakeout was
your
idea.
You
get to do the honors.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “You can leave the thermos with me.”
    Brian tossed it to him with a wry smile. “Changed your mind about hating tea?”
    “Nah. More like not changed my mind about being cold. At least the can will keep me warm.”
    After giving the yard a quick scan to check for prowling animals and lurking humans, Brian emerged from behind the trough and half crept, half ran to take up his position beneath a windowsill. Cautiously, he unfurled enough to be able to peer in the glass. The sight that assaulted him was enough to give a man heart failure. A furry face was pressed to the window, lips drawn back to reveal sharp fangs.
    ***
    Location: The MacCarthy Farm
    Time: 21:06
    Sharon surveyed the ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter: Epsom salts, coarse sea salt, baking soda, corn starch, citric acid, essential oils, and food coloring. Everything they needed to make fabulous homemade bath products. “The Ballybeg Christmas Bazaar won’t know what hit it. We’ll make a fortune.”
    Naomi paused in the act of unpacking a selection of cupcake-sized baking molds in a variety of shapes and sizes. “I don’t know about making a fortune. Personally, I’d settle for making our money back.” She fingered a little bottle of lavender oil. “Did you have to go and spend so much on the ingredients?”
    “There’s no point in bothering if we’re going to use shite ingredients. Decent essential oils don’t come cheap.” Sharon patted her friend on the back. “Don’t stress. Not only will we break even, but we’ll make enough profit to afford the rental deposit on a decent-sized flat.”
    Naomi’s expression was dubious. “I certainly hope so. This has wiped out the last of my savings.”
    “It’ll be no problem, Nomes,” Sharon said cheerily. “Trust me.”
    Rummaging through a cupboard, she located the kitchen scales behind a broken toaster and her brother’s bong. She stood and stretched her back like a cat. “Hey, if our bath product range takes off, we might persuade a couple of shops in town to stock them. I know Olivia sells stuff like that at the Cottage Café.”
    “Don’t jump the gun.” Worry lines creased Naomi’s normally smooth forehead. “We haven’t made our first batch yet. It might be a disaster.”
    “Such pessimism! Relax. It’ll all be grand. What you need is a large glass of vino before we get to work.” She wrenched open the fridge and assessed its contents. Beer, beer, and more beer. Sausages, bacon, and moldy cheese. She extracted a carton of milk and sniffed.
Holy mother
. When had it gone off? A shudder of revulsion ran through her body. Thank God she rarely ate at home. Standards in the MacCarthy household had never been high. Since Ma died, they’d plummeted to a record low.
    Grabbing the lone bottle of wine and slamming the fridge door shut, she pivoted on her platform heels and almost tripped over a mobile bundle of fur. “Well, hey there, Wiggly Poo. Did you have a nice snooze?” She bent down to stroke the dog’s curly fur. He wagged his tail and gave her a generous lick. “Buttering me up, eh? At least one male in my life loves me enough to kiss me. What’s it you’re after?